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Not that that didn’t have a certain appeal.
“Let go of me,” I said icily as soon as he’d finished. I felt betrayed and absolutely livid, but my body wasn’t smart enough to know it. It had liked the feel of his hands, wanted more of it, wanted it now. It was almost like there were two of me, one who heartily approved of the mage and one who would have dearly loved to see him dead.
Then something occurred to me that I should have noticed before. “The geis. It didn’t flare.”
“You said it yourself,” Pritkin said tightly. “I am half incubus. I can break through geasa during feeding.”
I stared at him, speechless, as a myriad of pieces clicked into place. Rosier could overcome the geis, so of course his son should have been able to do so. But he hadn’t, at least not in our time. He’d preferred to suffer excruciating pain, on more than one occasion, rather than…what? Risk getting too close to me? Be tempted to repeat what had happened with his wife? A wife this Pritkin hadn’t had yet, I realized. No wonder he wasn’t so worried about using his abilities, wasn’t so careful to avoid touching anyone.
A memory of how much touching had just been going on flashed across my mind and I felt a wave of heat rise in my cheeks. God, I hated him. But I hated the geis just a little bit more.
“I want the geis removed,” I said abruptly. “That’s why I need the Codex. Can you do it?”
He looked at me incredulously. “You expect me to believe that you have gone to such lengths for no more than that?”
“Why do you want it, if not for a spell?” I countered.
“To destroy it! It is the only way to be certain that it never falls into the hands of people such as yourself!”
“Give me the spell to reverse the geis, and you can do anything with the Codex you damn well please! I won’t care.”
There was dead silence for a minute, while he stared at me with a half-bewildered, half-angry expression. For the first time he looked like my Pritkin, the brash, sardonic, brutally honest man I knew. “Why did you not merely say so?” he finally demanded.
“I just did! Now, are you going to give it to me or not?”
Pritkin passed a hand over me, and I could feel my aura crackle. “You carry two geasa, not one,” he informed me after a moment. “And they are oddly intertwined. I have not seen this configuration before. How did it occur?”
“It’s a long story.” And not one I could tell him anyway. “Can you lift it?”
“Perhaps. If you return my map.”
“How many times do I have to say this? I. Don’t. Have. It.”
“If you didn’t take it, then where—” his eyes widened. “My cloak!”
It took me a second, but I got it. A wide grin broke over my face that I didn’t even try to make less than vicious. “That would be the one you were wearing when you stole the map, wouldn’t it? The one Mircea grabbed before we left?”
Pritkin snarled and I grinned wider. He said a few words, none in a language I knew. Probably some ancient British version of “screw you.”
“Are you going to give me the counterspell or not?” I demanded.
“Persuade the vampire to give me the map, and I will give you the spell,” he finally said, although it sounded like it choked him.
I sagged back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Done.”
We retraced our steps, but the cellar was empty and the raucous tavern on top of it was filled with people who were not Mircea. “Would he go after the Codex on his own?” Pritkin demanded.
“I don’t think so.” Mircea was after me, not the Codex. “But he’ll know that you’ll discover it missing pretty soon. He’ll expect you to come after him. And he’ll expect a fight. So he wouldn’t have stayed here—it’s too public.”
“Where would he go?” Pritkin demanded.
I opened my mouth to point out that mind reading wasn’t one of my skills, but abruptly shut it again. The rose window, I thought, seeing it lit up in my memory like a huge Christmas ornament. It was the middle of the night, and the streets around the cathedral had been deserted. Where better to hold a showdown?
I said as much and Pritkin made a noise that in anyone else would have signaled an incipient heart attack. But he pulled me back into the cellar and ripped a ley line open almost savagely, like tearing the air. A moment later, after another wild ride between worlds, we were pushing open the main doors of the old church.
On either side of us were long stained-glass windows, glowing faintly with the reflected light of a few dozen candles. Not surprisingly, they looked a lot more authentic than the ones in the casino, with the glass rolling in subtle lines toward the bottom of the panes, thicker there than at the top, brittle with age even two hundred years ago. More candles lit a sweeping line of similar masterpieces leading toward the darkened front of the church. Where Mircea stood, washing up at a holy water font.
“That is not possible,” Pritkin said, staring at him in disbelief. He couldn’t have sounded more shocked if Mircea had been sipping blood from a communion chalice.
